


A Hobbit and A King

by Thilbo



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M, Plotless really, Slightly non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thilbo/pseuds/Thilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo finds out that his dearest friend Gandalf has been injured and unexpectedly finds comfort in the arms of the Dwarf King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hobbit and A King

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [“A King and A Hobbit” ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/596682)drabble, except it's from Thorin’s point of view. Also, this canon in the sense that this scene takes place in Rivendell where Bilbo and the dwarves are staying but non-canon in the sense that Gandalf is not with them because he headed off to do something wizardly and unfortunately gets injured. So this is not parallel to neither the book nor the movie. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

“I am afraid.” Bilbo whispers as his lips curve into a broken and tender frown, his empty and distant eyes falling upon Thorin. He clutches onto his cloak to his side as his eyes gaze into the darker ones of Thorin, their gazes never faltering from each other’s. “I fear for him. I fear that my dearest Gandalf will never wake up. He has been unconscious for far too long and I—I just do not what I can do to help him anymore. He will not wake and I am afraid.” Bilbo weakly breaths out as his emotions overpower his self-control, his eyes watering, his lips trembling, and his hands shivering, his body giving in. It was becoming far too painful for him to keep everything within himself intact any longer. He was shattering.

And all the while, Thorin motionlessly watches as his eyes unsurely gaze at the beautiful yet broken sight in front of him. He watches Bilbo shatter. Little by little. One fragile glass piece at a time, leaving Thorin unsure as to what to do or how to react towards the hobbit. He did not know if he was to rush forward and gather the already broken pieces on the ground and mend them together, or if he was to catch the falling pieces and not let them hit the ground, or if he was to allow all the pieces to fall and _then_ mend everything together.

He did not know if it was his place to even do that, to mend the hobbit, the very hobbit he spoke ill of on their first meeting, even though _now_ , now he yearned and longed for the hobbit with every muscle of his being. They had a connection together, although not one deep enough for the dwarf, but respectful enough as they saved each other’s lives a number of times, so in some aspect, Thorin mentally and shamelessly argued, he had every right to march up to the hobbit and to hold him. To shield him. To protect him.

And yet, his feet did not move. They stood frozen to the ground, ice cold and stone solid. They would not let him move no matter how much his heart and mind ached to. They left him stationary, causing his heart to yell and scream that he had the right to hold the hobbit, that he had earned the right when suddenly, a dark conscious in his being sneered at him that he had no right to anything with the hobbit, let alone touch him. It screamed to Thorin to _back off_.

“—Hold me.” Bilbo softly whispers towards Thorin as he drew his pale arms around his body, shivering under the cold night, bringing his glowing but broken eyes to Thorin’s dark orbs as his body trembled under the darkness. “Hold me—please.” Bilbo softly whispers as his eyes glint with a glow of longing, his lips vibrating with a pastel color of red, his golden locks swaying under the dark air, his arms trembling midair with invitation as he slowly holds his arms out towards the frozen King.

Bilbo slowly strides towards the royal dwarf one step at a time, his whole being reeking of frailty and loneliness to the King’s nostrils, the wretched sensations hitting him all at once, shattering his senses and logic into pure dust. All that was left was the sweet aroma of Bilbo, an aroma of that of a rabbit taunting its juicy and tender neck to a hungry wolf, a prey ready to be eaten by its hunter and Thorin knew very well that he was the said wolf, ready to feast upon his prey.

Thorin knew that he was going to _wreck_ Bilbo should he lay a single finger on the hobbit. He knew that. He understood that, now more than ever because it was completely etched and vivid in his mind that the hobbit was off limits. At this very moment, Thorin knew he was to leave the hobbit. That he was to turn around and head to his room, to forget this—this meager hobbit who was a nobody, who was nothing but a nuisance to him, a prickly thorn, constantly stabbing him in the sides.

And yet, when he caught sight of the pale lips that were slightly parted, the broken eyes that gazed upon him, and the vulnerable hands held out to him, Thorin lost it.

He pushed, _forced_ , his feet to move as he marched straight to Bilbo, meeting the hobbit midway, possessively taking hold of his arms and pushing his frail body into his embrace, securing his arms around Bilbo’s waist, nuzzling his face in Bilbo’s temple and soft golden locks, slowly and hungrily inhaling the scent that only belonged to the beautiful hobbit. The scent that haunted him in his dreams, every single night. The scent that drove him to insanity.

Thorin inhales the dark sweetness of the hobbit over and over and over until his lungs were filled, bursting with nothing but Bilbo. He slowly trails his nose down Bilbo’s temple and softly places it on Bilbo’s cheek, his warm skin pressing against the cold skin of Bilbo’s. He trods his way down, eventually coming to the junction between the hobbit’s neck and shoulder as the soft and tender skin welcomes him, as if beckoning him to bite the sweet skin with its paleness and smoothness.

Thorin nudges his nose against the pulsating skin between Bilbo’s jaw and collarbone, inhaling the raw human scent that belong to the hobbit, that ever so sweet yet deadly scent. He lightly rubs his nose across Bilbo’s skin before finally placing his chin softly on Bilbo’s left shoulder, nuzzling his face deeply within the hobbit’s skin.

Thorin draws his hands up from Bilbo’s waist to his spine as he pulls the hobbit closer, his hands slowly messaging the shivering spine of the hobbit, up and down, up and down. His hands continue to tenderly caress the trembling back as Bilbo clutches onto his velvet robe, burying his face in Thorin’s chest, tightly and fearfully. As if someone, _something_ , was after him. As if he was afraid to let go and be separated from Thorin. As if the shadows of the night were going to reach out and grab Bilbo, eternally throwing him into a grief of darkness and solitude.

And Thorin sensed all of this, all of Bilbo’s raw emotions. He sensed the uneasiness, insecurity, and fear from Bilbo, his face hidden as he weeps onto Thorin’s chest, broken and muffled sobs running through the Dwarf’s chest and into his heart, tightly grasping it and ruthlessly clawing at it. Broken sobs that encompassed Thorin’s ear, sobs that were screaming at him to protect Bilbo, to not let the shadows of the night get to the hobbit, to shield him.

The sobs begged Thorin to protect Bilbo and Thorin did just that as his hold on Bilbo tightened, his whole body possessively encompassing itself around Bilbo, his embrace slightly lifting Bilbo off his feet, nuzzling his face deeper into the hobbit’s nape, his arms tightly holding their weight, _Bilbo’s_ weight, Thorin's tight embrace greedily dictating ownership over Bilbo. As if sending a warning to the darkness. As if screaming to the dark shadows of the night: _be gone!_

Screaming to the very shadows that lurched and danced around the dwarf and the hobbit, it’s keen eyes on Bilbo, preparing to catch the sobbing man off-guard, to latch onto him and to throw him into darkness. Thorin sensed the darkness creep over them, his arms instinctively tightening over Bilbo, his embrace screaming to the shadows in retaliation that this beautiful, broken, and poisonous hobbit was _his_. That Bilbo was _his_.

 _" **MINE!**_  " Screamed and snarled Thorin’s tight embrace to the dark shadows over and over and over till he heard nothing but the gentle and shallow breathing of Bilbo. He glared and growled to the darkness until he felt Bilbo relax in his arms, giving into the tender embrace of sleep.

And the King.


End file.
